as pitiless

 

Bondi Beach, I've been to Bondi Beach during a couple of visits to Sydney. Brown University, in 1957 when I was a Navy officer candidate at Newport, Rhode Island, Linda and I drove up to Providence to have dinner with a son of one of my grandfather's brothers, Reginald Heber Weller, who was bishop of Fon-du-Lac, Wisconsin early in the 20th century. 

Bondi & Brown - the problem with Earth is male humans, our evil nature: creation's male/female plan for reproduction was ill conceived. And, as with guns out of control in America, it's too late to do anything about it. 

When I was a boy everyone had firearms and it was no problem, what's the problem now? Something destructive in civilization is rapidly deteriorating its males, personal rights eclipse the wellbeing of society and our children. Analyzing the problem is a task for psychiatrists, psychologists, sociologists; doing anything about it is impossible in America because of both the nature of politics and the massive immersion of the populace in gun ownership. 

Where Oneself and not Others is the way of life ...  

All of which is to throw up one's hands and declare that nothing can be done short of draconian measures that would require totalitarian government.

This blogpost will join others in rotting on the vine this discouraging Time of Holiday Season 2025.

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The Second Coming

W B Years

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?